


nsfw SASO partytimes!

by zetsubooty



Category: Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: (for this first fill at least), Aged-Up Character(s), Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, F/F, Hand Jobs, IM TIRED FIGHT ME, Intercrural Sex, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Roughness, Sex Toys, alcohol mention, dfab!characters, idk how to tag it??, specifically dfab and lady-type
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubooty/pseuds/zetsubooty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what it says on the box. B) my nsfw bonus round fills for SASO 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tajimiha

**Author's Note:**

> Horchata prompted:
> 
> tajima &/ mihashi (/ anyone else you wanna)  
> sexual content, genderswap, if you please!
> 
> package: a rectangular prism with a really shitty bow and an envelope taped on top
> 
> from: Tajima  
> to: Mihashi  
> note: It's a VIBRATOR, Mihashi!! Trust me, it'll help!!!!

After a frantic search through the house for batteries, Ren finally lands kneeling on her bed and staring down the vibrator like a matador facing a particularly fierce bull. If the bull were also quite small and a rather garish shade of pink. She takes a deep breath and picks it up, turning it over in her hands. _How do I…make it go?? Here?_

The end feels like a button, so she pushes it. And then drops it with a squeak. She freezes, hands curled under her chin, while the vibrator merrily buzzes its way across her messy bed. With a gasp, Ren picks it up, trying to find an off switch. There does not appear to be one. She drops it again, this time to fall against the inside of her knee. It tickles and also sends a fizz of arousal through her. Ren slaps her hands over her face, then grabs it as firmly as she can, hands shaking as she holds the button down. To her relief, when she relaxes her grip, the thing stills.

Ren sighs deeply in relief, tossing it further down the bed. _Scary._

She nearly leaps in the air when something else vibrates.

[07:23pm]  
[Yuu-chan: didja try it out yet? ;D]

[Ren: Not yet]  
[It’s kind of scary]

[Yuu-chan: PPPFFFFHAHAA]  
[I figured you’d say somthuoing like that]  
[it’s not gonna bite u]

[Ren: It’s not that…]

Well, she honestly wouldn’t trust the thing not to attack in some way.

[Ren: Just…]  
[I don’t really know how to…]

[Yuu-chan: OH MY GOSH]  
[here ok im calling]

In the few seconds she spends waiting, Ren curls over with dread in her heart. _I can’t even get this right. I ruin everything, I can’t—_

Her phone chirps out a cheery tune.

“Reeeeeeeeeeeeen!!”

“Yuu-chan…”

“So you tried it at _all_ , or…?”

Ren flushes hotly. “I…I turned it on? But that’s…that’s all…”

“Well, that’s a good start! Wait…you nekkid?”

“N-no!”

“Ah, well, I guess maybe you like it better like that… Me, I always wanna be naked, though!”

“I didn’t… I just didn’t…”

Yuu’s voice takes on an authoritative tone. “Well, there’s your first step. Get naked!”

Ren clutches at her t-shirt. “I… Okay… But! But Yuu-chan will stay…?”

“Eh? Yeah, of course! I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Smiling with relief, Ren puts down her phone and slips off the side of the bed. She strips out of her clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the floor, and climbs back on the bed, picking the phone back up.

“I did it. I…”

“Great! Now get comfy. It’s kinda fun if you try weird positions, like you can put your feet up…” As if she can sense Ren’s rising nervousness, Yuu stops herself. “Oh! But for the first time, just on your back is definitely fine.”

Ren scooches down on the bed, knocking a baseball onto the floor. “Oh!”

“Huh?”

“Just…forgot to get the…the…the thing…” Ren fumbles around for it, grabbing it with her toes and then holding it triumphantly.

“Ren. Say it with me. Vi-bra-tor.”

“V-v-vbrgltar…”

Yuu’s laughter peals out. “Close enough! Okay, so you figured out how to turn it on, and stuff? You’re probably gonna wanna start on the lowest setting for now…”

Ren eyes the vibrator with alarm. _It gets buzzier???_

“…so just fire it up!”

Eyes wide and mouth pulled into an uncertain line, Ren pushes the button again.

Just like the first time, the sensation startles her, the noise too, loud enough that Yuu can surely hear it. She drops it, this time on her belly. Ren squawks, curling over and flailing.

“Ren! What are you even doing?”

“D-drop! Dropped it! It…tickles!”

Yuu snickers. “Man, I never thought of that… Betcha we could totally torture someone like Mizutani with it! Aaaaaaanyway. You got it again, now?”

“Mm-hm.” Ren holds it, watching its slightly blurred outline curiously. Now she’s a little more used to the sensation, it’s easier to hang onto it. “N-now what?”

“Well, just go for it!”

“Um…”

Yuu huffs out a soft laugh. “Okay. You’re supposed to put it on your clit, right? Make sure you’re on the hood, or it’ll be way too much at first.”

Ren nods, and, taking a deep breath, brings it down to press against her labia. Her breath shudders out of her, abrupt, embarrassingly loud.

She slaps her hand over her mouth, muffling her apology, “S-sorry! I…I…” Rather than propel itself around, Ren’s twitching has lodged the vibrator fairly securely in place. She squeezes her eyes shut, doing her best not to make a sound; it’s indirect, but enough already to flood her with delicious sensation.

“Don’t say sorry! Ya make cute noises.” Ren’s face burns, but she can hear the smile in Yuu’s voice, comforting and warming. Yuu hums thoughtfully. “You okay being on the phone like this?”

Ren’s pretty sure she’s been avoiding thinking about that. But… “No! I feel…I think…it’s less scary, because Yuu-chan is there…”

Yuu cackles. “You’re not s’posed to be afraid of yer own hoo-ha, geez!”

Ren takes hold of the vibrator again. “I’m not! I just…” She lets it press against the soft flesh again. “It feels better because Yuu-chan is there.”

There’s a silence on the other end. And then Yuu inhales slowly. “You doin’ it yet?”

“Um…not…not quite… I just…outside…if that’s…if that’s okay…”

“Oh! That’s pretty good, too. You basically do whatever you want with it, okay? Stick it up your nose if you wanna!”

Ren frowns. “I don’t think it would fit.”

Yuu sighs lightly. “Aaaaaanyway, my point is, if it feels good, then do it. But believe me, when you get to your clit, it’s gonna feel _way_ better.”

Ren’s eyes fall shut as she fights the urge to cover her face. Something in Yuu’s voice reaches into the arousal expanding within her, spreads it messy and warm all through her stomach and up her spine and down her legs to where her heels dig into the bed.

“Yuu-chan, I’m gonna…I’m gonna try…”

“Good! Go for it!”

Ren smiles, drawing her knees up and letting one fall off to the side. Inhaling slowly, she grips the vibrator firmly and inches it down to the more delicate skin.

Ren gasps out a cry, fumbling the phone against her collarbone. Her hips tilt, pushing her butt back into the bed and dragging her skin against the vibrator. She tries to gather enough coherence to lift the phone, apologise, but all she can do right now is luxuriate in the sensation.

“…en?”

She picks the phone up again, just holding it in place a second before she speaks. “Yuu-chan… I’m sorry for… I’m sorry about th-the noises…”

“I. _Told_. You. It’s cute! Make all the noise ya want. Oh! Unless someone’s home, then ya might wanna keep quiet…”

“N-no one’s… Just…me…” She’s not entirely paying attention to her words, mostly focused on tempering the pressure of her fingers, from light enough to tickle to firm enough it feels like her whole crotch must be vibrating too.

“Well, then, make all the noise you want! I can sorta tell what you’re doing that way…” Yuu reflects for a moment, then starts, oddly cautiously, “If there’s no one home…I coulda come over with you.”

Ren squirms slowly against the covers. “Yuu-chan…could…”

Yuu’s voice is soft, soft. “Even if you were still…still rubbin’ one out?”

She has the sense that they’re standing on a threshold. Or more accurately, already partway through. But it doesn’t feel scary or intimidating, not with Yuu. “Yeah.” Her cheeks burn, but she knows for once, for once, _she_ can be the one to reassure _Yuu_. “I’d l…I’d li,” her voice pinches down to a whisper, “I want Yuu-chan here.” She mashes her face into her shoulder, eyes tight shut.

Yuu breathes out, “Wow…” then inhales shakily. “Ren… I wanna…wank too.”

Her eyes pop open wide. “Yeah, I want! Yuu-chan should…should do it, too…”

“Okay, wait a sec, lemme catch up!” Yuu’s voice fades a little like she’s put the phone down. Obediently, Ren takes the vibrator away, resting it on her hip as she listens to the slight rustle of cloth over the phone. It’s almost a welcome reprieve; everything still feels buzzy and over-sensitive, every shift of her hips or legs a teasing pull and squish.

Curious, she drops the vibrator, sliding two fingers down between her labia. It’s wet and hot and she can’t resist dragging her fingers over the delicate skin, down to dip into her hole. Would Yuu feel the same, would her muscles twitch and squeeze the same, would she get so wonderfully slick like this?

_What does Yuu-chan taste like?_

Ren whimpers, knees pulling tight together so her hand is squashed between her thighs as she wriggles in embarrassment and want.

“Hey!” Yuu’s voice comes closer again. “You’re s’posed to wait!”

“I…” She arches against the bed, eyes squeezing shut again. “I was… It’s just…with fingers? And I…I was th-thinking about Yuu-chan’s…um, p-parts…”

Yuu’s breath huffs out in a way that makes Ren’s hips twitch, and suddenly she can almost, almost understand, believe that Yuu had enjoyed hearing her earlier.

“Ren… I’m thinking about you, too.” She can’t hear what Yuu’s doing except by the hitch and pull of her breath, but just that, just that is intoxicating. “I wanna…wanna watch you doing it, I wanna… I wanna touch you…”

“I want! I want that…” She shivers, remembering every time she’s seen Yuu when they changed and showered, her small, broad body dusted all over with freckles. Ren can finally put a name to what she felt, the urge to touch, to investigate the squish of small breasts and lean thighs, to wrap around each other in something tighter than a hug, to bury her hands in Yuu’s short hair and pull her close, close. “I want…to touch Yuu-chan too… I want to…want to know what Yuu-chan feels like…inside, too…” Her fingers find the vibrator, just squeezing it for a second before she gathers herself enough to bring it against her clit again.

“Re…en…” The syllable ends on a whine, Yuu’s breath already coming fast, fast.

Ren whimpers, hiding her face against her shoulder even though there’s no one to see. But perhaps, perhaps, Yuu’s imagining her, just as she’s imagining Yuu. The thought burns her through, the images in her head of Yuu writhing against the sheets too, or even—she’d said other positions, right? Ren can hardly imagine but maybe, maybe she’ll find out.

“Yuu…”

“Ren, press the button again.”

She shivers, quick to obey. It’s too much, too much, she cries out, hand clenched on the phone, on this tenuous link that somehow grounds her, holds her safe and sound in the familiar warmth of Yuu’s words, all encouragement and adoration now as pleasure fills her to bursting. Her voice fails her as she reaches that peak, hanging ecstatically with Yuu’s voice whisper-close in her ear, “Ren, you sound so hot, Ren, I wanna do it to you, I wanna feel you come, Ren…” She’s arched tight against the bed, feet pressed hard into the bed, everything in her stretching taut, taut, and then with a gasp, undone.

Ren turns her cheek against the pillow, eyes barely slitted open, breath coming in heavy, sporadic pants. The vibration is too much, she pulls it away and turns it off, but still she can feel her body ebbing with her orgasm. Yuu gasps tightly, over and over. As Ren’s head clears, she thinks she can just barely hear a tiny slick noise. She rolls on her side with a needy noise of her own, feeling the possibility of _again_ as her muscles tense.

“Yuu-chan…”

There aren’t enough words, no way for her to possibly convey all the desire and affection she feels washing over her. All she can do is match her breathing to Yuu’s, echo her as she plunges into her own release.

They don’t speak for a while, just catching their breath and marveling privately at this new thing, guessed at, hoped for, and now a promise hanging in the crisp evening between their houses. Ren smiles to herself, cozy and happy.

“Yuu-chan…”

“Mm?”

“Tomorrow…will you kiss me?”

Yuu laughs, a lazy, gentle noise. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah. Can we…can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wanna expand this and maybe add that /anyone else component some time BUT FOR NOW THIS'LL DO)


	2. oisuga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiyala prompted:
> 
> Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi; Haikyuu!!  
> no tags
> 
> Package: A tube of lipstick, with a bow tied around it  
> From: Tooru  
> To: Koushi  
> Note: For the next time you're feeling possessive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alcohol mention

 

“Okay, I know I’m the one who gave it to you, but I wasn’t expecting you to wear it…”

“Out? With friends?” Suga’s lips curve in a mischievous burgundy smile. “Is it a problem?”

Oikawa lets an eyebrow flick up, returning the smile. “Nah. Just unexpected.” Feeling the need to one-up Suga, he grips his chin lightly and presses the edge of his thumb against his lower lip. Not enough to smear it, but enough to feel its creaminess, to leave a dark line next to his nail. Oikawa suppresses a shiver, forcing his eyes back to Suga’s. “It looks good, though.”

Suga flushes lightly but narrows his eyes. “You’re just congratulating your _self_.”

Face the picture of innocence, Oikawa turns, lacing their fingers together. “Perhaps. I _did_ pick a gorgeous shade.” Easily, they start walking towards the bar together.

“Hm,” Suga sniffs, but he still smiles happily enough.

It _is_ a good shade, even if he’s just looking at it critically. He’d been nervous about such a dark colour with Suga’s colouring, but it contrasts beautifully, its severity cooled by the soft texture of Suga’s hair and the lightness in his expressions.

And besides, it’s not just about how it looks on Suga.

Oikawa shivers again, disentangling their hands to slip his under Suga’s bomber jacket to the small of his back, leaning in to kiss just at his temple, kiss the mark under his eye.

Suga hums, tilting his head towards him. “If I kissed _you_ right now, you’d pitch a fit.”

Oikawa recoils. “Don’t you _dare!_ ”

Turning on him, Suga makes a face like he’s seriously considering it now. “I thought that was the whole point, though?” He grips the open front of Oikawa’s jacket, coming up on his toes until their lips are barely separated by breath. “That I get to do anything. I. Want.”

Arousal shimmers through him. “That’s not what I said in my note.”

“Not exactly. But I know what you like.” Suga drops back, grinning. “But I’ll play nice. For now.” He starts them walking again.

Oikawa narrows his eyes. “Well, then you should know damn well that anticipation is part of the appeal.”

“I do.” A hand shoves in his back pocket. “I do.”

Oikawa hums in response. And then squawks in outrage when Suga steps in front of him, yanking the v-neck of his tee out of the way to press a quick kiss to his chest.

“Oi!”

“No one’ll see it.” Suga looks incredibly smug.

“It’ll get on my shirt.” He’s pretty sure it _is_ visible. The thought is offensively arousing.

“Stop fussing. Come on!” Once more, Suga tugs him forward.

It’s an exercise in self-control.

Oikawa can’t tell whether Suga’s doing it on purpose, or if the mere existence of the red wine lipstick just makes every movement of his mouth into flirtation, any hinted intrusion of fingers or flash of tongue a lewd insinuation. Even the way it smudges away in a half-circle on the rim of Suga’s glass (and once, once, on the rim of Oikawa’s own) leave him restless.

And yet, and yet, he talks normally, he laughs at the others’ jokes, he discusses the bar’s choice of music, because this is all part of the game. And if, in the shadows, his hand glides down the inseam of Suga’s jeans, if, when a straggler arrives, Suga obligingly shifts to Oikawa’s lap, that is part of the game, too. Not an unbalanced one, not when Oikawa can so easily dot glancing kisses on his nape, press fingertips into his stomach or toy with the waistband of his jeans.

Murmur in his ear, “Home. Now.”

They walk quickly, dragging each other into short sprints with laughter slurring out of them. Kissing now uncaring in the glare of a stoplight, Suga’s lips faintly sticky and tasting of alcohol. And finally, finally, leaning on each other while he fumbles out his keys and lets them inside.

No time even to take off his shoes before Suga backs him up against the wall with one hand in his hair and the other groping the front of his jeans. Before Oikawa can take his lips, though, he turns, fishing something out of his jacket pocket and stepping across to the mirror hanging opposite.

Oikawa steps close behind him, watching him smooth the lipstick over his lips in the dim light from outside. He nuzzles Suga’s hair, hooking fingers on his jacket and starting to slide it off. His own follows, dumped on the floor and Suga crowding him back across the hall to hang for a second, an eternity, with the heat of his mouth so deliciously close to Oikawa’s.

Abruptly, he dips in and bites under his jaw.

Oikawa slaps a palm against the wall, gasping out a curse. He’s given no time to regain his balance, Suga’s lips a smear down to his throat, down, until Oikawa stops him with his hands and urges him up for a proper kiss, tongues and lips and wet fire. Suga’s hands slide up his chest, rumpling his shirt and then pulling on the collar again so he can kiss Oikawa’s collarbone, down onto his pec, sucking. He can barely see the marks from this angle, but he can feel how the skin will redden on its own, dark spatter of bruised dots that will linger long after they’re done. He tips his head back against the wall, eyes falling shut for a brief ecstatic moment before slitting open.

And meeting his own in the mirror. Where he can see the dark pigment reshaping his own lips, the mark under his jaw and trailing down.

“You did this on purpose.”

Suga straightens, mischief in his eyes. “What?”

“The mirror.”

Suga turns, leaning heavily on his shoulder and looking back at their reflections. “You wanna move?” His hand drags down Oikawa’s chest to squeeze his dick through his jeans.

He can’t seem to take his eyes off that hand. “Definitely not.” Or his own, fitted against the curve of Suga’s ass, lighter skin giving form to the dark curve.

They move together, quick gasps and the press of legs and shirts shoved up only to fall again, a brush of sensation lost in the flurry of each others’ mouths and grabbing hands. Suga working his fly loose with his eyes catching lamplight and the fever of Oikawa’s own. The gasp of his breath against his collarbone as Oikawa palms his dick.

Suga slips away from him, down, down to kneel between his feet, and Oikawa lets his head bang against the wall again with another sputtered curse. But no touch comes, so he looks down to find Suga with the black and gold tube out again, twisted gorgeously to look in the mirror as he reapplies the lipstick once more.

Oikawa watches him dazedly for a second, then hurries to strip off his shirt. He gets as far as his belt before Suga’s hands stop him.

“Not done just yet. There’s still,” he smooths his palms up Oikawa’s sides, “alllll this,” and presses a kiss beside his navel.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “How’re you gonna reach?”

Suga’s eyes narrow; out of nowhere, he produces the lipstick. Hopping up, he captures Oikawa’s lips, hand working quickly over his chest.

Backwards in the mirror, he can read, “PROPERTY OF SUGAWARA SUGA.”

Oikawa forces a laugh. As if they both hadn’t felt his dick twitch. His voice breaks on a gasping cry as Suga takes a nipple between his teeth. But fast, fast, he’s back on the floor, yanking Oikawa’s pants and boxers down like the petals of some strange flower unfolded and taking him in eagerly.

His hips rock forward, a deep groan rising in his throat. But cut off the next second by Suga’s fist jammed into his stomach, not hard enough to hurt but enough to startle.

“Don’t move.” Suga’s eyes are steady on his.

He grins back. “Is there an ‘or else?’ attached to that?”

“Or else I’ll stop.” Not waiting for a response, Suga kisses his hip. Then draws back to consider the mark. “I’m going to make even more of a mess of your clothes.”

Oikawa shuts his eyes, palms flat on the wall. “Don’t give a shit. Just suck me off.”

Suga huffs a laugh and instead kisses him again. And again, this time with a scrape of teeth that has him exhaling a tightly controlled breath. Smudges dark in the mirror beside Suga’s pale hair, and his own chest rising above, his arms tense. And the writing on his skin, as if it weren’t written already with every red wine bloom on his neck, with the darkness of his eyes and the slight, slight embarrassing tremor of his right leg.

He looks down again, meeting Suga’s teasing smile with a more urgent, intent expression. As if what he sees satisfies him, Suga nods once and then sucks him in.

It’s exquisite heat and softness, Suga’s lips dragging sticky on his shaft. He groans out a breath, smacking a fist back against the wall. Suga bobs his head steadily, measured and slow, wedging his fingers in Oikawa’s pants to pull them down. Oikawa shifts his hips the tiniest fraction to let him do it, controlling himself carefully until Suga pulls back again.

“Quit teasi—”

There’s the sound of Suga spitting.

Heat rushes to his cheeks.

“Spread your legs a little?”

He wants to crack a joke, snark something at him, but all he can do is nod and slide his legs further apart. Suga smiles, the dark line of his lips messy now but still gorgeous, gorgeous, and opening around the head of his dick so beautifully. Fingers push between his cheeks and he has to make himself relax, while somehow, somehow remaining still. He bites his lips together, releasing them on a plosive gasp as Suga’s fingertips push inside.

He can see the erratic rise and fall of his chest, the more measured expand of Suga’s ribs, and he might feel angry but no, he loves this, loves feeling all undone and then tied back up again by these lips, these hands, the red marks on his skin and everything they mean.

He reaches out to stroke fingers through his hair but fingers clamp around his wrist. But with a groan that resonates through Oikawa’s body, Suga brings his hand the rest of the way, eyes flicking up briefly.

“You’re a…you’re a…” He can’t finish the thought because Suga’s fingers curve into him just _so_ , and it’s all he can do to keep from moving, keep from shoving back on that firm touch or fucking into the raw heat of his mouth. He combs his hand through Suga’s hair, his breath coming in rough pants and his gaze flicking between the twin images of Suga, so gorgeous from every angle and plunging him closer, closer, closer, until he has to squeeze his eyes shut and smack his fist against the wall over and over.

He comes down slow. Suga’s fingers still slide into him lazily, even once he stands, kissing his parted lips with a small laugh. He reaches behind Oikawa to flick the light on, blinding, blinding, but he’s not looking anyway, too intent on kissing.

Suga tugs him away from the wall, slipping behind him and urging him over to the mirror. Oikawa’s almost reluctant to look in the stark light, but it stirs a shiver of arousal in him, seeing the marks where Suga’s mouth had been, the writing scrawled down his ribs.

“I like your present, Tooru.”

He can feel Suga’s hard-on against his ass, jeans pleasantly rough against his bare skin. Embarrassment and arousal twine inside him, make him set his palms either side of the mirror, make him arch, make him meet his own still-dark eyes and then Suga’s at his shoulder. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which oikawa somehow found Magical Lipstick that only selectively smears because otherwise suga would look like a 2yo who got into a pot of jam.
> 
> this was my first time writing these two, let alone this pairing, so I hope I did okay;;;;; OTL


	3. Izutaji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> em prompted:
> 
> Package: a box about the size of a shoebox, that seems to contain one item  
> To: Izumi  
> From: Tajima  
> Note: use it when you're lonely and I'm not around ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Izumi eyes the box in the middle of the hall floor with the practiced suspicion of a bomb disposal expert.

Cautiously, he picks it up, shaking it experimentally. Something weighty shifts inside, though it seems to be packed in. With a fingertip, he opens the note, a folded-over ripped-off piece of printer paper. _What’s with that face? If you’ve got money to throw around on random presents, you could at_ least _go to the bother of getting a card._

Izumi reads the note, slowly raising an eyebrow. Feeling simultaneous twists of anticipation and dread, he takes the box over to the table to open. Tajima hadn’t even taped it shut, giving Izumi horrified visions of him having spilled it on the floor in front of one of the neighbours on his way up.

The first thing to greet his eyes is a butt. A perfectly nice butt clad in a violently magenta bikini bottom. Izumi raises both eyebrows, lifting the magazine out.

“You know I have the internet, right?” he sighs to no one in particular.

“Yeah, but old-school’s fun sometimes, ain’t it?”

Izumi whips around and smacks Tajima with the rolled-up magazine.

“Ow! _Hey!_ ”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding particularly sincere. “Why’re you…I thought you guys were playing up in Sendai…?”

Tajima hums happily, managing to turn Izumi back to the table and slip his arms around his waist. “Tomo-orow. I mean, I’m s’posed to be packing, but I came to drop this off, and then I got sleepy, so I took a lil’ nap…”

Izumi sighs again, fondly this time, one hand sliding over Tajima’s. “You couldn’t nap at home?”

“I like your bed more!”

“Get a better bed.”

“Not what I mean.” Tajima lifts on his toes, hooking his chin on Izumi’s shoulder; Izumi smiles a little smugly at it. “C’mon! Open the rest.”

“I was _going_ to, before—” He cuts off, lifting out a clear plastic tube containing a cloudy-blue cylinder.

“It’s for spankin’ i—”

“I _know_ what it’s for, you goon.” Honestly, it’s…surprisingly tasteful and restrained, for Tajima. Izumi’s seen some of the other things he’s purchased over the years. And been on the receiving end of more than a few.

With a shuddering breath, he squeezes Tajima’s hand, tugging his arm tighter around his waist.

Tajima bounces a few times. “You liiiiiiiiiike it?”

Izumi’s eyes narrow for a split second before he drags Tajima’s hand down to the front of his jeans. “What do _you_ think?” he snaps.

Unfazed, Tajima grabs his dick, pressing a quick smooch to his neck. “Good! Because after this, it’s gonna be a while before I’m back, and I don’t want—”

“Use it on me now.”

It’s subtle, but Izumi can feel Tajima’s surprise. He still palms his growing erection lazily. “If ya say so, but if _I’m_ here, don’t you wanna do other stuff?”

Izumi turns in his arms, smirking. “If it’s supposed to stop me from being lonely…you better make absolutely sure I can’t use it without thinking of you.”

It’s not often he manages to make Tajima blush (he’s got a tally running in the back of a notebook).

He beams at him the next second. “Wow, _nice_ one!”

Izumi rolls his eyes, huffing out a laugh, then leans in to finally kiss his boyfriend. “So, we on, or what?”

A flash of teeth and fingers tugging on his fly are Tajima’s only answer.

Izumi sets the stroker on the table behind him, bringing both hands up to cup Tajima’s face. They linger, a hesitation borne out of familiarity and the simple intimacy of a gaze shared as Tajima yanks on his pants. Inhaling softly, Izumi pulls him close, catching Tajima’s upper lip gently between his own. His eyes slit open as he draws back, enough to take in the blurred curve of Tajima’s cheek, before he presses back in for another glancing kiss.

He lets his hands fall to Tajima’s shoulders, loving this, loving the shift of his torso as he pulls Izumi’s dick free and then the way he pushes back into Izumi’s hands on his ass. He hadn’t bothered to put anything on over his boxers, and Izumi luxuriates in the thin fabric, sleep-heat lingering still on Tajima’s skin.

Abruptly, Tajima drops to his knees. Izumi sinks back against the edge of the table, fingers twirling in Tajima’s hair. “I wanted you to—”

“Keep your pants on. Well,” Tajima grins up at him, and Izumi can’t fight a smile back. “I like feelin’ you get hard in my mouth.”

He can’t exactly object to that. “Well, then you’d better get a move on.” Playful, he jerks Tajima in closer.

Tajima groans, nosing at his wiry hair. “You smell good.”

“You’re gross,” he tells him without conviction.

Tajima just chuckles, kissing and nuzzling around the base of his dick, palms smoothing up and down the outside of Izumi’s thighs.

There was a time when this surprised him, this care, this savour, but not anymore. He’d asked Tajima once, told him he’d expected him to be more like he was when masturbating, quick and to the point. Tajima had smiled over at him, all warm earth shades in the late afternoon light of his bedroom, and said, “That’s different. You jack it to get off. You fuck to enjoy people.”

He’d felt hot through at that, and felt like, as much of an idiot as Tajima could be, there were a lot of things that he got better than anyone.

_Was it then that I fell in love with you?_

He traces the familiar line of Tajima’s jaw, lips curving in an easy smile. Tajima makes a low noise, taking hold of his hand to kiss the palm, the ball of the thumb, just under the heel where he’s sure his pulse beats strong against his lips.

Izumi shakes his hand free. “You’re too distractible.”

Tajima pouts up at him for a breath, then grabs his hand again. “Keep touching me.”

And he does, he does, carding his fingers back through his hair as Tajima draws the weight of his dick between his lips. Strokes his cheeks and the freckles spilling across his nose, even brushes his thumb over his long, long lashes, provoking an amused hum. True to his word, Tajima’s gentle still, tongue and lips working in slow concert, enough to leave Izumi biting his lip as blood rushes down but still a gradual crescendo in no danger of ruining the build.

Tajima pets his bared skin, his hips, pushing up under the hem of his dress shirt to drag fingers aimlessly down his stomach. Izumi lets his touch wander as well, tugging the collar of Tajima’s shirt askew so he can feel the springiness of his muscles. Izumi’s mouth twitches up crookedly and he twists the fabric in his hands, pulling. Tajima pulls back with an indecently satisfied gasp, grinning up at him as he raises his arms. Izumi strips his shirt off, returning quickly to touch soft skin and the ridge of collarbones. On sudden impulse, he shifts forward, weight on his hands. Tajima makes another amused noise, mouthing the end of his dick daintily. Izumi savours his sturdiness, the broadness of his shoulders, the small sinuous movements of his body as he draws Izumi deeper.

With a sigh, he drops back against the table. Tajima follows, pushing between his feet to stay close. He’s picking up speed, and in it, Izumi can feel his arousal. As if he can’t see perfectly well how his boxers are tented.

“You look good.”

This, now, is not enough to make Tajima blush, just crinkle his eyes cheekily in lieu of a smile. And then with a quirk of an eyebrow, he curves his back, dropping a hand down to squeeze his dick. Izumi hisses out a breath, lashes dipping low but his attention focused on the luxuriant movement of Tajima’s hand, the way the silky fabric hides and reveals at the same time, the hitch in Tajima’s expression when he hits a good spot.

Izumi watches him for a while longer, one hand on the table and the other idling in Tajima’s hair, on the hollow of his cheek. Inhaling softly, he pushes Tajima back; as soon as he’s clear, Izumi braces both palms on the table and hops up. Tajima follows with a grin, slipping between his knees to kiss him. Izumi wraps legs and arms around him, groaning into the kiss when Tajima’s dick brushes against his own.

Hands curl on his shoulders, push him back. Izumi has the passing thought that he’s glad he keeps the table relatively clear.

Tajima grips his pants and underwear. He braces his feet on Tajima’s hips and lifts his ass so he can pull them down, sinking back onto the already warm wood. Tajima leans over his leg for the cylinder, wrestling it open with a triumphant laugh.

Then drops it on Izumi’s stomach, spinning and dashing back towards the bedroom. “Lube!”

Izumi laughs, letting his head drop back and kicking his feet. He plucks up the stroker, squishing it experimentally and examining the ridges spiraling up the outside.

Shortly, Tajima dashes back. He’s lost his boxers somewhere, not that Izumi’s complaining.

“C’mon, gimme.” Tajima takes it from him, setting the lube on the table. “Told you it’s a good idea to have both!”

Izumi hums absently in response, eyes on Tajima wrestling the sleeve inside-out. Like that, it looks very tight in a way that sends heat across his cheeks and down his neck. Tajima beams at him, reaching to pump lube on his fingers. Izumi watches him drizzle the liquid into the hole, his own hands stealing down to curl around Tajima’s dick. He hooks his legs around the back of his thighs, urging him closer until each steady pump of his fist brushes against his own hard-on. Tajima makes a low pleased noise, hips rocking gently as he slips his fingers around the inside of the stroker.

They both watch as Tajima steadies his dick and brings the sleeve to the tip. Izumi realises he’s bracing himself as if it would hurt, and forces himself to relax with a heavy exhale. No pain, just delicious softness opening against the head of his dick, still cool but wonderfully slick.

“Damn…” Tajima slides it up a little before pulling it down again. “Feels like it’s real tight.”

It doesn’t sound like a question and Izumi can’t really muster a response, just digs his heels into the back of Tajima’s legs. The stroker slides down, pressure shifting with Tajima’s hand but always the squishy surface close around him. Izumi bangs his head back against the table.

“ _Fuck_.”

“That’s good swearing, yeah?”

“…Yeah…” His hand’s still around the base of Tajima’s dick and if he could just be bothered, he’d get some lube too and start jerking him off but all he does is rock his hips up as Tajima pulls the stroker back down. “You…” He squeezes lightly.

Caught leaning over him, Tajima glances down before straightening again. Eyes still on Izumi’s dick, he pumps out more lube, slicking his fingers over his own shaft to close briefly over Izumi’s own. Izumi tugs on him, aimless but wanting to draw Tajima along with him in the building pleasure.

Tajima snickers, reaching for the lube again. Izumi flinches when it hits his hip, dripping down between his legs. Before he can question Tajima, he shifts closer, adjust his dick to lie against Izumi’s skin. Tajima curves over him, already fucking against him eagerly, breath puffing out over Izumi’s chest and his hand, his hand working the sleeve over his dick so perfectly. Izumi slips his hands around the back of his head, pulling him close until Tajima kisses his skin over twitching stomach muscles. One hand’s covered in lube but he’s sure Tajima doesn’t care, not by the choked noise he makes or the tension in the fingers he shoves under Izumi’s side.

The stroker’s warm now; even though Tajima still strokes slow, the friction and the heat of their bodies is enough. Izumi makes a quiet sound, fingers twisting in Tajima’s hair and his hips held up off the table.

Tajima’s dick slips down against his ass. “You’re bein’ too wiggly!” He straightens, releasing Izumi’s dick to tug on his leg instead. “C’mon, back!”

Izumi’s perplexed but draws his leg back. When Tajima pushes it over to the side, smiling as he lets him twist his lower body. Tajima smears more lube between his thighs, groping the soft skin there before curling his fingers under to hold them apart lightly. With a low groan, he eases his dick between them, hand returning to curl around Izumi’s dick.

Tajima pushes his palm up Izumi’s back, shoving up his shirt, an unbalanced hug as he jerks him off. His lips drag over his ribs, hips slapping against the back of Izumi’s thighs in time with his hand. Faster and faster now, any desire to draw this out evaporating in the face of the heat building inside each of them. Izumi tips his head down, watching the flushed head appear between his paler thighs; it’s all he can manage to hold them apart but he doesn’t think he’ll have to hold the position long.

Tajima’s strokes are jerkier, his grip heavy and his slight body weight leaning into Izumi. Izumi arches with a low groan, his arm slipping around Tajima’s shoulders as if he could draw him closer. And then he’s just holding on as Tajima shifts his grip and _twists_ the sleeve up his dick, rough and fast and the slickness between his legs and Tajima’s tight noises smothered against his side and Izumi comes with a grunt and his fingers buried in Tajima’s hair.

Tajima lifts his head, eyes dark and lips parted on an uneven pant. Then pouts ridiculously. “Aww, missed it!”

Izumi scruffs his hair affectionately. “Not like it’s rare.”

Tajima shrugs, letting his head be pulled down against Izumi’s ribs again. He wraps both arms around him, thumbs stroking Izumi’s sweaty skin. His thrusts are quick, sharp, making Izumi think with a shiver of having him inside. But at least this he can watch, admire the stretch and pull of Tajima’s muscles and the way he presses himself close like he’s afraid of being washed away.

Izumi strokes his hair, touch impatient. He can feel the shuddering build in Tajima’s body, feels the spluttered gasp a split second before he feels the pulse of his dick. It’s gorgeously indecent, his skin shiny with lube and sweat and a trickle of white trailing down from between his thighs, more when Tajima pushes flush against him one last time.

Izumi lies there quietly, catching his breath, then shoves Tajima lightly. “C’mon, I’m not a wiggly noodle like you, this is getting uncomfortable.”

Tajima stands, but instead of letting Izumi slide off the table, climbs up on top of him. Izumi cries a protest but then just grumbles. Still, he welcomes him eagerly, hugging him close in the fading daylight.

“You’re lucky neither of us is heavy.”

Tajima presses against his cheek. “You really know how to ruin the moment.” He raises his head, kissing Izumi lightly. “So. That memorable enough?”

Izumi smirks at him. “I dunno. You might have to do it again to make sure. And I’ll need a refresher when you get home.”

Tajima gives him a laughing kiss. “Greeeeeedy!” He smirks back. “I like it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took this in a slightly different direction than anticipated, I hope it's okay;;;;;


	4. Aokaga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> em prompted:  
> Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga , Kuroko no Basuke
> 
> violence/violence between intimate partners
> 
> My black eye casts no shadow  
> Your red eye sees no blame  
> Your slaps don't stick  
> Your kicks don't hit  
> So we remain the same  
> Blood sticks, sweat drips  
> Break the lock if it don't fit  
> A kick in the teeth is good for some  
> A kiss with a fist is better than none  
> Whoa a kiss with a fist is better than none
> 
> \--Kiss with a Fist, Florence and the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ended up waaaaaaaaaaaay less fighty than I wanted and more just. sex-have. BUT HEY y'all can fight me. and maybe I'll Spicie it Up later on.
> 
> their ages are not specified here so. *shrugs*

Aomine straddles his thighs, squeezing tight to keep him immobilised for the moment. Laughing, Kagami grabs the front of his shirt, hauling on him to unbalance him. Which suits him just fine. He lets himself be pulled over, capturing Kagami’s other hand and trapping it against the floor, and curves in for a bruising kiss to his lower lip.

He can feel the rush of it through Kagami’s body, his fingers gripping Aomine’s back. But he jerks his head back.

“That’s not fair!”

Aomine pulls back enough to smugly meet his gaze. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Kagami narrows his eyes. “I dunno. Just _is_.” He gives Aomine’s shirt another tug.

Abruptly, Aomine lets go, sitting up on his knees so his weight’s no longer on him. Kagami releases his shirt, eyes fixed on him. Aomine raises an eyebrow.

“That mean you don’t want me to do it again?”

There’s the toothy flash of Kagami’s smile again. “Didn’t say that.” He shoves himself up, grabbing Aomine’s shirt with both hands now. Another rough kiss that tells him nothing he hadn’t read already in the twitch of Kagami’s dick against his thigh, the catch in his breath that was not just about effort or the pain of a poorly-placed elbow.

They’re unbalanced, his legs tense deliciously to support Kagami’s weight and he can feel the shimmer of energy through Kagami’s body when he drags his hands down his sides. Kagami drops a hand to his hip, his ass, the waistband of his pants, pulling down on them; he’s not sure what his intent is, but he definitely knows there is too much air between their bodies and he sinks down with a groan.

Kagami’s knees bend outwards slightly, an angular cup for his ass, positioning them perfectly for him to grope their dicks together.

Kagami kisses his neck, loose and hot and breath panted out against his skin. “You don’t mess around, do you?”

“Oh? You got a complaint about that?” Aomine fits his fingers and thumb around the shaft of Kagami’s dick, too much fabric in the way to get a good grip on it but enough, enough to get Kagami gasping, enough to set his own blood pumping. He starts to tip his head down for a kiss but before he can, fingers clench in his hair, Kagami’s mouth open on his throat. Not a bite, not exactly, something fiercer but gentle enough not to bruise.

“Oi. Don’t pull my hair.” He yanks on Kagami’s in retaliation.

Kagami lets himself be pulled back, grinning. “ _That’s_ what you got a problem with?” Then, then, resisting Aomine’s grip to kiss his chin, down his neck, breath slow and heavy as Aomine squeezes his dick.

Aomine rocks his hips impatiently, making a low noise in his throat. Without warning, he grabs Kagami’s shoulders, shoving him back. In the same motion, he pushes himself up so he can slide down between Kagami’s legs, which seems to cut off any outraged protest. Aomine sits back on his heels, hooking his fingers in Kagami’s waistband, waiting for him to lift his hips before tugging them down.

He hums another soft noise, eyeing his dick with half-lidded eyes. Then flops forward face-first on his stomach, narrowly avoiding squashing his dick.

“Hey!” Kagami grabs his hair again, tugging lightly. “Thought you were planning on doing something down there.”

“I _was_ ,” he replies, voice muffled, “but now I’m tired. Besides, it’s squishy here.”

“You’re stupid.”

He makes a noncommittal noise in response, snuggling closer.

Kagami huffs indignantly, then draws up his legs, planting his feet firmly on Aomine’s ribs and shoving.

“Hey!”

“Either blow me or get off me. You’re heavy.”

Aomine smirks at him. “Fine.” He wrestles one leg down, shifting to straddle it, and curls over Kagami’s hips. Kagami’s breath punches out when he sucks him in, his quads tensing under Aomine’s ass. He smiles again, hand moving lazily on the base of Kagami’s dick. Not quite a stroke, not yet, just enough to work counterpoint to the unsteady rhythm of his lips.

Kagami clenches a hand on his shirt, hips twitching up erratically. His other hand cups Aomine’s cheek, and there’s gentleness there but also restrained impatience in those strong fingers pushing against his cheek. Aomine lifts his head, meaning to say something teasing, but before he can, fingers grip his hair, Kagami yanks his head back down.

“Don’t…stop, or I’ll…”

He fights against his grip enough to say, “You’ll _what?_ ”

Kagami glares at him for a second, mouth open on a steady pant, then tugs him down again. “Just don’t stop.”

Aomine quirks up an eyebrow, mumbling out, “Make me,” around his mouthful.

Kagami huffs a noise that’s somewhere between amusement and irritation, tightening his hold on Aomine’s hair and pulling him down. With a pleased hum, Aomine holds his mouth looser, starting to stroke his hand heavily up the shaft. He shifts his hips, grinding down against the softness of Kagami’s inner thigh as he twists his knee outward.

Alarmingly, the world rotates one eighty, his ass and shoulders thumping back against the floor. Before he can catch his breath, Kagami’s clambering over to straddle his chest, grinning in a way that would be irritating if he wasn’t so eager to get his dick back in his mouth.

Kagami drops forward on one hand, sliding his hips forward until his dick pushes into Aomine’s mouth. He grabs his ass, loving the feel of the muscles pulling taut with each quick thrust. Kagami’s breath is tight and ragged, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bared.

Aomine groans around his dick, reaching down with one hand to squeeze his own, slip it under the waistband of his shorts. Maybe Kagami can feel the motion of his arm or maybe just chance has him casting a glance over his shoulder, breathing out a low noise at the sight. The movement of his hips hitches, stutters, pushing deeper now.

“I’m gonna win this.”

Aomine meets Kagami’s eyes, unable to respond with anything other than his hand squeezing his ass and pulling him deeper. But Kagami doesn’t seem to need a response, his eyes closed again and his free hand carding roughly back through Aomine’s hair, once, twice, then grabbing again. His body sways forward, pushing Aomine’s head back against the floor, and he only has a warning groaned through gritted teeth before he feels the pulse of his orgasm against his tongue. Too deep in his mouth for taste, and he swallows around it to pass the bitterness down. His tongue presses against Kagami’s dick, throat tightening and he can feel every peaking wave, hear the hitch in Kagami’s breath, all of it gorgeous, and all the while his own fist working his dick furiously.

Kagami hangs over him for a long moment before all in a rush shoving his way down. He plasters himself against Aomine’s side, catching his lips roughly as he wrestles Aomine’s hand off his dick.

“Too hot…” he grumbles without much sincerity. Kagami hooks a leg around his thigh, pushing against him as if he hadn’t come just a second before, his skin hot and sweaty and soft against Aomine’s bared hip. Groaning, he curls his arms around Kagami’s back, hauling him tight as he fucks into his hand. Kagami kisses him again, then leans his forehead against his cheek, watching. His breath still comes fast but not as fast as Aomine’s own.

He hums out his enjoyment, urging Kagami back up for another kiss. But Kagami pulls away, dipping in to bite his neck.

“Shit, _shit_ …” He claws at Kagami’s shoulder, hips lifting off the floor. Pleasure crashes through him, thick and bright all at once and Kagami sinking his teeth in again as his hand slows on his dick. Aomine hauls on his shirt. “ _Kiss_ me, jackass.”

Kagami lifts himself on an elbow, grinning down at him for a second before kissing him lightly. And then firmer, luxurious, and Kagami grabbing his hip with a sticky hand and still moving against him.

"You ready to go again already?"

Kagami snorts in disbelief. "You serious?" He kisses the corner of Aomine's mouth. "Not quite yet."

"Then..." He grabs Kagami's shoulder, flipping them back over and jamming his elbow up under his chin. Kagami's eyes narrow for half a second before he grapples at him, his laughter warm against Aomine's face as he leans in for another kiss.


End file.
